The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four) by Jack D. Albrecht Jr., Ashley Delay Page A

kissed her quickly. “Be careful. We can’t just assume that Trevar knows as much about this well as he does the well in his homeland, obviously. If you see anything that makes you nervous, come back out. And keep your wand at the ready.”
    “Always. I’ll tell you everything I see when I get back.”
    “Look closely.” Gus’s tone implied that he meant she should look with more than just her eyes. She smiled down at him and then followed Trevar through the opening.
    The interior of the tower looked much like the stone chamber that housed the Well of Strands in Angmar. There was nothing to break the surface of the walls as far up as Bridgett could see in the light of her wand—no doors, no windows, not even cracks or seams in the stone.
    Trevar touched his wand to the wall, but nothing happened. Bridgett expected the intricate whorls of light to spread out in a glowing display along the stone, but it seemed that Trevar was unable to affect this well as he could the one in Angmar. With the only light radiating from the tips of their wands, Bridgett gazed around at the inside of the tower.
    The circular bowl in the center of the round room was much smaller than the one in Angmar but equally proportioned. With her Wand-Maker’s vision firmly engaged, she moved closer to dispel the shadows and peered into the concave space. Her breath fluttered from her chest at the beauty of the strands—the source of all life and magic on Archana—and she gazed deeply into the intertwining pattern for several moments. The strands, like thin ribbons of light, radiated outward from the bowl and pierced everything in the room. The colors penetrated the stone, leaving it brighter as though it held a charge of energy. Bridgett remembered the way her entire body felt lighter and more energized when she had stood barefoot on the stone of the Well of Strands.
    It was still quite disorienting to see the world in two ways at once. The tips of their wands dimly lit the room, and she could see the shadows that danced away from her toward the edges of the circular, stone room. Yet, with her focus on the strands, the room seemed as brightly lit as a lake in full sunlight. It took a great deal of effort to navigate the room and to observe the objects it contained while still using her new ability to view the magical strands that permeated everything in sight.
    With great concentration, Bridgett forced her attention away from the well and around the rest of the small space. There was a small table and chair, a bookshelf containing a few texts stacked haphazardly and a variety of jars and boxes, and a large wooden chest spread out around the well. Based on the heavily woven strands that encircled the lid of the chest, Bridgett saw that it must be spelled in addition to the large lock that adorned the latch. She still did not fully understand what she was seeing when she looked at the strands, but the pattern seemed too regular not to be an intentionally orchestrated spell.
    Serha had described the book from her vision in detail, but in the stack on the shelf, Bridgett did not see any texts with seven symbols on the spine. Luckily, she also didn’t see any evidence of the dark fog or liquid that Serha had warned her about. The stone basin in the floor held nothing but strands of magic from Archana. Bridgett gathered up the books in one arm and turned to scan the room before leaving. Trevar was crouching on the floor near the desk with his back to her. Bridgett walked around the well and came up behind him.
    He was staring down at an open book on the floor. He looked up when Bridgett approached him, and she was assaulted by the strength of his emotions. Her Empath ability threatened to overwhelm her as tears flooded her eyes.
    “Trevar, what is it?” Her voice was weak and choked with his feelings.
    “It is everything. It is how to get in. It is the one we need.” Speaking with her seemed to calm him down, and as his influence on her gift waned